


Take a Ride with Me

by Nostalgic_Kitty



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, College, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Flirting, High School, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, One Shot, Prompt Fill, erik has a motorcycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2034951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgic_Kitty/pseuds/Nostalgic_Kitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his way home, prep school student Charles runs into an older man who goes to local community college. Then, everything changes.</p>
<p>Based on this prompt:  http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/9701.html?thread=23220709#t23220709</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Ride with Me

**Author's Note:**

> Ooops, this isn't what I was supposed to be writing! Oh well, I needed something to unblock myself and this was just the trick. Tried my best to keep them relatively in character. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Mind, in this Charles is 17 going on 18 and Erik is 20, but no underage occurs. Also, the referenced child abuse is brief but provides a major plot point.

Charles’ route to and from school is both long and complex, incessantly trying his patience and stamina. For all that Charles could easily be on his school’s track team (if he wanted to) and is by no means out of shape, a mile plus hike both to school from home and back home again is a bit much. In fact, it is a _lot_ much, but you’ll never catch Charles saying so within listening distance of anyone of import. After all, had it not been for his stubborn refusal to have the family driver take him to school, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

As it is, the trek isn’t inherently unbearable so much as it is time consuming. Charles spends a good 40 minutes each way, walking a twisting route past the local community college. In spring and fall, the walk is actually rather pleasant, with the smell of newly-blossoming flowers and the crunch of autumn-colored leaves under his feet easing the way. But in winter and summer, it’s a very different story. Though winter is a close second, summer reigns supreme in terms of Worst Time Ever to be walking to and from school. His secluded private school demands that they wear a stifling three layers of shirt, sweater vest, and jacket, all topped off with a constricting tie. Shorts are out of the question, of course.

So it is on one of the first days of his senior year, slogging through the muggy heat on his way home, that Charles encounters him. Just as he’s passing by the community college parking lot, hefting his book bag higher on his shoulder, Charles hears a low whistle come from his left. Turning to appraise his harasser, he sees a tall man in sunglasses who’s just swinging a jean-clad leg off of a red and purple motorcycle. As the man moves to take his sunglasses off, Charles can’t help but notice how attractive he is, all sharp cheekbones and mysterious grey-green eyes. Frowning, Charles holds his head up high and looks down his nose at the man in an impeccable imitation of his mother.

“What do you want?” he asks, making sure his accent curls around the words and lends a tone of condescension to his voice. Unbidden, a flush appears on his cheeks as the man merely smirks at him.

“Nice ass, kid,” the man says, grinning widely and showing off an impressive set of teeth. Charles splutters intelligently at that, flushing further.

“E-excuse me?” Charles stutters, only capable of getting out a meager two words.

“I said that you have a nice ass, kid. You think I’m wrong? Because I think I’m a pretty good judge, personally. I know a great ass when I see one,” the man continues, still grinning predatorily.

“That’s not what I—why are you—Now, _I’ll have you know_ , I’m no child. I turn eighteen in three months,” Charles says haughtily, getting into the man’s space and pointing an accusing finger at him. “Additionally, I’m not ‘kid’, I have a name and it’s Charles.”

“Do you make a habit of introducing yourself to people you are threatening?” the man says, hands held up in mock surrender.

“Do _you_ have a habit of hitting on underage boys who are just minding their own business?” Charles accuses, stabbing a finger at the chest of his harasser. “Because I’d like to be left alone and I’d rather not have to take out a restraining order on you, my friend.”

“Oh, are we friends now?” the man says, taking Charles’ accusatory hand into his own and shaking it in a rough and strong grip. “Nice to meet you Charles, I’m Erik.”

“Let go of my hand!” Charles says, shaking Erik off. “Goodbye, Erik. I believe we’re done here.”

Charles stalks off down the road with a determined step, pausing to turn around when Erik remains silent, not offering up any last parting shots to Charles’ dignity. When he meets Erik’s eyes again, he sees the same wide grin spreading over his face as he leans against the entrance gate to the community college. Charles gives him an incredulous look.

“Just admiring the view,” Erik says casually, grin widening even further with amusement.

Blushing furiously, Charles turns and leaves, hoping to never encounter Erik again.

*

Luckily, Erik encounters the pretty boy in the uniform again the next day. It seems that just as Erik arrives to study at the library, the boy is walking home from some snooty private school once more.

“We can’t keep meeting like this,” Erik says, winsome smile firmly in place as he parks his impeccably painted motorcycle. He hopes that his natural charm will get him somewhere with the young man this time.

“Get away from me,” says Charles, backing up with a wary gaze fixed on Erik. Hmmm, apparently not.

“I just wanted to say hi, honest,” Erik says, looking at Charles innocently. Erik may be lying a bit, but Charles doesn’t need to know that he’s taken a liking to him. Or that he just really wants to see those beautiful blue eyes filled with embarrassment again. No, it would be better if Charles didn’t know either of those facts yet.

“Oh, really? Then how do you explain last time?” Charles says, skeptical.

“Last time I was just giving you a compliment. You’re the one who read perverted undertones into it,” Erik protests.

“I hardly think telling a minor they have a nice ass counts as a mere ‘compliment,’” Charles says, backing away with further skepticism. Trying to regain ground with Charles, Erik switches his approach and hopes that his genuine interest in the young man comes across.

“Look, kid—Charles. I’m sorry if I upset you before, but I sincerely wanted to give you a compliment. If you want, I’ll leave you alone, but I’d really just like to get to know you,” Erik says, holding out a placating hand. Eyes still wary, Charles reaches out and shakes Erik’s extended hand, his grip surprisingly strong and steady.

“Hello, my name is Charles Xavier. What’s yours?” Charles says, eyes still wary but seemingly accepting that Erik’s overtures are honest and well-intentioned. Erik beams and returns the handshake.

“Hello Charles Xavier, my name is Erik Lehnsherr. Nice to meet you,” Erik says. This could be the start of something, he thinks.

*

After that second encounter, their short conversations become a routine. Charles is unsure why he has decided to give Erik a chance, but he can’t help but believe that Erik’s intentions are truly good. So each day they chat about everything and nothing, from Charles’ school work to Erik’s efforts to achieve a mechanical engineering degree. Before Charles knows it, they are talking about deeper and more complex things each day. Eventually, Charles reveals his terrible home situation, with a mother that ignores his existence and a stepfather and brother that pay too much negative attention to Charles. In turn, Erik reveals his ailing mother’s struggles and the two jobs—one at a 7 eleven and the other at the _library_ of all places—he juggles with school work in order to support her. Trying to lighten the mood, Charles jokes that he could never imagine Erik working in a library, especially with his leather jackets and chunky magenta combat boots. In response, Erik punches Charles playfully in the arm and then grabs him to ruffle his hair emphatically. Charles tries to ignore the way he flushes at the action and the predatory aspect that Erik’s gaze acquires in reaction to the flush.

The most shocking thing Charles learns about Erik by far is that he is actually only two plus years older than Charles. Two years into his community college degree, Erik hopes to attend a school specializing in his engineering major next fall. Charles is forced to also ignore the pang of loneliness that arises at the thought of Erik leaving.

Then the catalyst comes, the moment that makes their friendship acquire a distinctly more intimate quality.

It all begins when a particularly rough fight with Cain goes horribly wrong and Charles breaks a priceless vase his stepfather bought only a few days prior. For his trouble, Charles receives a resounding slap to the face courtesy of his stepfather—a lovely addition to the bruised ribs Charles was nursing in the aftermath of Cain. Examining the bruise in the mirror, Charles concludes that all the concealer in the world wouldn’t be able to cover up the large blue handprint on the right side of his face. Hoping Erik won’t ask after school, Charles heads out the door in his uniform, wincing when the constricting jacket agitates his injured side.

Later, as Charles walks home, he approaches the community college, surreptitiously attempting to hide the right side of his face from Erik. As he approaches the other man, he sees Erik’s eyes brighten with anticipation and then narrow when he notices the bruise.

“What happened?” Erik says, moving forward to take Charles face in his hands and turn it from side to side, examining the injury. “This looks nasty. Must hurt.”

“N-nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Charles says, deflecting. He turns away from Erik, dislodging his searching hands.

“Hey,” Erik says, taking Charles face in his hands once more and pushing his hair off his forehead. “You know you can tell me things, right? I can help you with this. All you have to do is ask.”

“I know. I just—I can’t ask that of you, Erik. I _can’t_ ,” Charles says, whispering the last part and flicking his eyes to the ground. Suddenly, Erik lets go of him and moves away. Charles mourns the loss and feels a tear slip down his cheek.

Then, something is being thrust into his hands. Opening his eyes to examine the round object, Charles realizes that it is a motorcycle helmet—and not Erik’s typical red one but a sky blue one instead. He must have bought it just for Charles. Looking up with wide eyes, Charles silently asks Erik for an explanation with his raised brows.

“Take a ride with me,” Erik says, eyes pleading. “Just forget about them for a while and ride with me.”

“Okay,” Charles says. “Okay.”

*

The ride is perfect. Erik has always loved the wind whipping past him, the weightless feeling of driving through the streets on his motorcycle. But this is even better, with Charles’ forearms wrapped around him and the warm press of Charles’ body a grounding presence. At one point, when Erik approaches a red light, he decides to run it just to see how Charles will react. Charles first screams in terror, but then it turns into a whoop of joy as they make it through the light.

After that, they drive for seeming hours, with no destination in mind. Finally, they end up at a park at sundown. They sit on the swings and play at being children again, taking turns pushing each other. Then Erik drives Charles home, attempting to leave him there with a goodbye hug that lasts a little bit too long. His hands are in Charles hair and Charles’ arms are wrapped around his waist and for one moment, everything is perfect. When he finally lets go, and the moment breaks, Erik looks Charles right in the eye.

“Fuck them,” he says, carefully pronouncing every syllable. “Charles, _fuck them_ if they don’t know how special you are.”

“Thank you,” Charles says. “For everything.” Erik swings one leg back over his motorcycle and mock salutes Charles, preparing to leave. But just as he starts the engine, he hears Charles whisper something almost inaudibly.

“Don’t go,” Charles says louder. He flicks lovely blue eyes up to Erik’s, and Erik sees that they are filling with tears. “Don’t go.” And all Erik can say is,

“Okay.”

*

They spend that night curled close in Charles’ small childhood bed, Erik holding him as he cries, muffled by the thin fabric of Erik’s t-shirt. Charles knows he shouldn’t have asked, knows that there is a mysterious air of _something_ laced through their interactions now that Charles refuses to name. But he just felt so alone and when he’s with Erik is the only time that he doesn’t feel that way. Even Charles’ best friend Hank doesn’t quell the ache as well as Erik. Hank disapproves of Charles’ friendship with Erik, of course, seeing Erik as a dangerous older man that Charles shouldn’t affiliate himself with. Charles has long since stopped paying any attention to Hank’s advice.

In the early morning, before Charles’ mother and stepfather are up—not that they would even _notice_ , Charles thinks bitterly—Erik gets on his motorcycle and rides away. He has ridiculous bags under his eyes, ones that surely match Charles’ after a night of no sleep. Charles tries not to mourn the lack of a goodbye hug this time.

As Charles goes through the day, sitting bored in school and tuning out Hank’s chatter at lunch, he can feel that _something_ sprouting and growing and gaining new life with each passing minute. The knowledge of Erik’s attraction to Charles has always over their heads, and now Charles is suspecting that that attraction may well be returned. But it is the connection, the sheer intimacy of their little shared moments that truly haunt Charles’ dreams and mind. After school that day, Charles begs off their usual conversation, claiming exhaustion. That night he lies awake despite said exhaustion, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Erik. In the end, he makes a decision—maybe not a wise one, maybe not well-informed due to his sleep deprivation—and resolves to act on it.

*

As Erik waits outside the community college, he wonders whether Charles will make another excuse today. Something deep in his chest began to ache when Charles refused their normal interaction and walked off, looking sad and small in his uniform. After what they have shared, Erik’s not sure he can resist the pull of Charles any longer. If Charles’ reactions are anything to go by, it may be time for Erik to cut off the relationship and save Charles the trouble of his feelings, no matter how much it will feel like chopping off his own limb to let him go.

Having made his decision, Erik waits on his parked motorcycle for Charles to arrive. Just when he’s beginning to worry, he sees Charles approach in the distance. When he finally reaches Erik, Charles just stands there with a blank but determined stare.

“What is it?” Erik asks after a significant portion of time has passed. The determined look on Charles face deepens and he marches over to Erik.

Quick as lightning, faster than Erik can even process, Charles swings his leg over the motorcycle so that he’s straddling it backwards, facing Erik. Erik pauses in confusion, a question ready to escape his mouth, when Charles pulls Erik forward by the collar of his leather jacket and brings their lips together in a rough kiss.

When Charles finally pulls back for air, they’re both panting lightly and Charles fingers are still twined tightly in the leather collar. Erik rests his forehead against Charles’, glancing up at him to see his eyes downcast—lashes long and trembling—and a blush spread prettily across his cheeks. After a small moment of silence, Charles finally looks up, blue, blue eyes meeting Erik’s sea glass-green ones.

“What—what was that for, exactly?” Erik manages to get out between pants, looking searchingly at Charles’ embarrassed face.

“For—for— _stuff_ ,” Charles stutters, unwilling to let go of Erik’s jacket.

“That’s not an answer, Charles,” Erik says, chuckling under his breath at the way Charles has gone from brash to blushing and flustered over the course of a few minutes.

“It’s because I’m _in love with you_ , you idiot!” Charles exclaims, bumping his forehead against Erik’s emphatically.

_That_ gives Erik pause, his eyes going wide and round. Charles’ eyes are downcast again, lips quivering with fear at the realization of what he’s just said. _We can’t have that_ , Erik thinks.

So Erik yanks Charles forward by the tie of his uniform—payback—and kisses him again, claiming and possessive, hoping to dispel any uncertainty Charles has about Erik’s own feelings. Initially, Charles lets out a little squeak of surprise before melting into the kiss, moving his sturdy hands up to curl in Erik’s short hair instead.

Breaking apart with an audible smack, Erik stares into Charles’ startled eyes triumphantly. Charles finally loosens his hands and drops them down to rest on Erik’s chest, fingertips just overlapping skin where his grey tank top ends.

“What was _that_ for?” Charles echoes dazedly.

“I’m afraid it’s for the same reason you provided,” Erik says, mock-serious. Charles looks at first confused, then beyond joyful, a blinding smile gracing his face.

And then they are both laughing, Erik’s hands coming up to grasp Charles where they still lay on his chest. All Erik feels is pure relief and delight.

*

Once they have both calmed down, Charles looks up at Erik shyly and wonders how mild harassment and annoyance managed to give way to _this_.

“So what now?” he asks, grinning lightly at Erik and looking emphatically at the place where Erik’s hands are still clasped tightly around his own. Reluctantly letting go only to bring his hands up to clasp Charles’ face between them, Erik’s own smile turns shy.

“Come back to my place,” he whispers, looking unsure and elated simultaneously. “We don’t have to—I mean, whatever you want—but we don’t have to—“

“Shhhhhh,” Charles says, bringing his hands up to stroke Erik’s cheeks. “I know. And thank for telling me. I think anything more than kissing would be a bit much for me this quick, but—I’d like that, sometime.”

“I just want to kiss you without anyone watching. Somewhere it’s just you and me,” Erik says, seeming more relaxed and sure with each passing moment. “Can we do that?”

“Yes,” Charles says, looking into Erik’s eyes. “Yes, Erik, yes.”

*

The walk to and from school may be long and tortuous, but Charles doesn’t mind anymore. Not when he has Erik to look forward to. With Erik, _everything_ is different.


End file.
